Difference in Similarities
by LoverofLattes
Summary: "Do you love him?" A series of vignettes exploring the Greek philosophy of the four types of love, and how they look when manifested between a certain Time Lord and his schoolteacher companion. Clara/12. Chapter 2: Set during Deep Breath. Clara has a revealing conversation with an unlikely confidant. Two-part chapter.
1. Eros

**A/N This is a series (of currently undetermined length) exploring the Greek philosophy of love having four manifestations: eros (romance), phileo (friendship-based bonds), storge (affection) and agape (selfless love). There is most certainly love between the Doctor and Clara, but it's not just friendship, and it's not just romance. Each chapter will be exploring the different types listed above. **

**DISCLAIMER: The last break in this chapter is directly taken and quoting from the episode MotOE, and is completely Jamie and Steven's work. I claim no ownership. The characters in the rest of the chapter are theirs, too.**

**A **_**huge**_** thank you to Friendship-Bravery-Souffles for your help as a beta! This chapter was immensely improved by your feedback!**

_Love isn't a normal relationship - that's why it's got a name._

-Steven Moffatt

**EROS**

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><p><em>Set during "Mummy on the Orient Express," in which Clara and Twelve were specimens.<em>

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><p>"Pick something…elegant," the Doctor instructed, throwing open the doors to the TARDIS' extensive wardrobe.<p>

Well, wardrobe would be an understatement. It was really an entire room, closer to the size of a small library than a closet. Clara came through the door, brushing up against him as she pushed through the tight space. They both bristled at the contact, muttering wordless apologies.

Their steps had been entirely out of sync since she had returned to the TARDIS. Clara wasn't certain, but she had a feeling that she had wounded a part of him that hadn't been hurt that way in a very long time. He had deserved her words – her anger – but the aftermath of delivering them had taken its toll on her as well. After a month of being apart, their bizarre magnetism had silently drawn them back together. The exact day he materialized on her front lawn at dusk, Clara had already been dressed and waiting outside.

She knew him.

She knew herself.

She pushed open the doors of his ship, meeting his gaze evenly. Ready to listen. His usual harsh expression had brightened considerably after she had accepted his formal, respectful apology, but something cracked again when she informed him that this was her last trip on the TARDIS.

He had been quiet, stoic, withdrawn, and more than a little awkward since then. Well, even more awkward.

She hated that she was responsible for it.

That's exactly what she was being, she reasoned: responsible. She had a steady job, a wonderful boyfriend…she was outgrowing her adventuring days. That was all. She could stop anytime she wanted.

He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. He gestured with his broad hand, nodding and offering a closed-mouth smile. "Please. Take your pick."

She smiled back, and some measure of the warmth was sincere.

Clara didn't bother holding in her rapture. She cooed as she admired the long trains coming from dresses, humming appreciatively as her hands ran through endless rows of them. Silks, cocktail dresses, ball gowns… it was like she'd stepped into a fairy tale. When she saw the lines of shoes beneath the dresses, she let out a squeal.

The Doctor watched with detached scrutiny, absently itching the underside of his chin. "Human women do love their clothes," he remarked.

"What's not to love?" Clara said, dimpling as she held up a champagne sweetheart dress.

He wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. "You'd look even paler than usual in that. I think not."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you going to pick something, then?" she teased, holding up a lacy black cocktail dress. "This would do nicely with your eyes."

"Your sense of humour is razor sharp, as always." He looked unimpressed.

"Suit yourself." She continued to stroll through a row of dresses, letting her hands trail on either side. Her fingers grazed along silks and satins, frills and – sequins.

Clara halted, gasping. She had just touched sequins. Ohh, this was a dress. She held it up to the light, turning it side to side.

"What do you think of this one, Doctor?"

She held up the knee-length black dress with a plunging neckline, gold and black sequins running down the entire length. At the bottom were long strings of glittering rhinestones, which tinkled as she moved it side-to-side. Clara had been half-kidding. It looked like a 20's retro number, more fit for a costume party than anything. She held it up to her body, striking a Marilyn Monroe pose.

To her surprise, a rare smile spread across his face. He set his hands in his pockets, pleased. "Uncanny choice, Clara. It's perfect."

Clara pursed her lips in thought. His sarcasm was difficult to follow sometimes. The look on his face had changed as he looked at the dress, and she couldn't place the expression.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Where exactly are we going, Doctor?" she asked, suspicious. "You're not being clever and tricking me into looking like a proper idiot in polite society, are you?" There were a lot of things she still didn't understand about this Doctor, and his sense of humour was one of those greyer areas.

The expression was gone, replaced by his usual crossness as he began to leave. He seemed confused and irritated at the question. "Why would I do that?"

Clara ran her hands over the dress, shrugging her shoulders. "Never know with you."

"Let me know when you're ready. I'll only be a moment, but I understand that you'll need some time to groom your appearance into suitable submission."

Clara sniffed at his back. She continued to admire the dress as the metallic echo of his footfalls faded, loving the easy swish of the material.

_Now_, she thought, _to see about some heels._

* * *

><p>Clara fluffed the bottom of her bob, finally satisfied with the way her chestnut hair fell around her jawline. She pulled the black, elbow-length gloves up her arm, relishing the feel of the silk sliding up her skin, tugging the tops of the sleeves into place. She hadn't worn a dress and done herself up since…well, her first date with Danny. She shook her head to push away the sense of guilt that tugged at her.<p>

This was not a date. This was goodbye. She gave her hair another tousle, tossing it for good measure. If she had to do this, she was going to at least give herself the luxury of enjoying herself while doing it.

She ran her hands over the gloved part of her arm to smooth the wrinkles, pausing as a flash of red registered in the corner of her eye.

Her hair bounced as she turned her head, but he was already gone.

Clara pinned one half of her bob to the side with a diamond clip. She took a step back to take in the full effect, turning and examining her figure, the sequins glinting invitingly as she did so. She exhaled through her nose, tapping the side of it once. Something was still missing.

Her eyes fell on her makeup on the dresser. A crimson lip stain lay on the corner of the desk.

Well, this was hardly an occasion for subtlety.

She rubbed her lips together after applying a thin layer, smiling to evaluate her work. The mysterious, scarlet-lipped, brunette flapper in the vanity smiled back.

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><p>Clara tread steps with feline precision down the TARDIS stairs, allowing her silk-clad hands to trail down the railings. Her perfume lingered about her hair, a floral, husky number. She adjusted the pin on the side of her bob, relishing the luxurious smell about it. She never wore perfume, but then again, this was the last time she was going to have over a hundred bottles to choose from.<p>

As Clara descended her perfume melded with something distinct, unfamiliar, like mahogany and dusk. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she finally realized that it was cologne.

A long dormant feeling stirred in her stomach as she drew in another breath.

As the Doctor came around the console, Clara busied herself with a glove, tossing her hair, lidding her eyes downwards. She wanted him to remember her like this.

They were silent for long seconds, Clara finally satisfied with her glove. She met his gaze, and was slightly struck at his appearance without his usual minimalist-magician affect. He was still wearing a jacket, but a longer version of a bowtie wrapped around the usually vacant place on his collar, and his silver hair appeared to be arching. His eyes had returned to their usual pallor, electrifyingly blue-grey.

They immediately locked on her own like a vice.

The feeling curled and fanned into a flame in the pit of her stomach, licking at her resolve. Unsettled, Clara averted her eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling like the dress was half the size it had been in her room under the intensity of his gaze.

When she caught Danny stealing glances, they were soft, adoring; Danny's affections made her feel satisfied and wanted. Safe, even. The Doctor's looks, however…

The way the Doctor was looking at her now seared through her conscious. His looks weren't safe; they made her actually want danger, made her want to embrace risk and freedom and secrets. His eyes were grizzled, matured versions of the bottle-green ones that had once held her own, she realized, the flame spiking into a small fire. They were silent invitations to come see what they had seen.

_Danny, this is our last go, _she had said_,_ kissing his cheek on her way out of his flat_. I'll be all yours from now on._

The memory was enough to return her senses. Clara felt the flame flicker and die down to embers, finally quenched by guilt. She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. For Danny. If she had to pretend until she believed it herself, so be it.

In an attempt to look aloof, Clara crossed her arms and tilted herself off to the side, running her tongue over her top row of teeth. "What do you think?" she asked, coyly swishing her dress. She flicked her eyes up and down his tall figure. "You don't look half bad when you run a comb through your hair, you know."

The Doctor scowled. "Why do your eyes appear to be even larger than usual? They take up even more of your face than ever. Which was an unnatural feat to begin with."

"Makeup. Honestly, Doctor, all of space and time and you don't understand makeup."

"Is that why your lips look like—"

"Why do you usually look like a posh magician?"

"I don't look posh."

"Keep telling yourself that."

The Doctor's scowl deepened. She loved it.

Swinging her arms loosely, she sank herself into a chair, bobbing a leg over the arm as the Doctor threw switches. "Where to, then?"

When he turned to address Clara, what dim light was in the TARDIS fell across his face, now absent of his cross expression, and her heart sank at the hollowness of his cheeks. Had he been eating less?

"The most suitable place I can think of for a send-off, Clara."

His entire demeanor was now gentle, almost raw with the heaviness of the evening's purpose. This meant more than his scripted apology. The softness about his face, so uncharacteristic…it stabbed pity into her heart.

She swallowed. She really hoped responsibility was worth what this was costing them both.

She closed her eyes as he threw the final lever, absorbing the groaning wheeze of the TARDIS flying to her coordinates. She let the sound fill her to her core. She would only hear this sound once more…she would be an old woman still replaying that sound in her head someday…

When her eyes slid open, the Doctor was watching her. The softness sharpened to something more bitter now.

She smiled as she pushed herself out of the chair, but she fought to make it reach her eyes. "Your new face is so serious," she said thinly, taking his elbow.

He didn't protest. "It has a lot to be serious about," he replied.

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><p>Clara felt eyes on her as she strode past a table of gentlemen and continued through the cabin at the Doctor's side. Her hand rubbed her sequined thigh absently, tugging down the edge of her dress. This wasn't her usual taste in clothing, and the attention was a little different than she was accustomed to fielding. The Doctor's eyes slid down to where her hand lay on her thigh, averting them so quickly she wasn't sure she had really seen it.<p>

The men began whispering, a few of them obviously looking their way. Clara had no doubt that they appeared to be either father and daughter or some sort of business associates to the untrained eye, and that she was more or less unaccompanied. An observant eye would notice, however, that the Doctor's once-fluttering fingers were now fisting as his line of sight fell on the leering men.

One of the dark-haired men at the table winked at his friends, tipping his glass in her direction before he turned to fix her with a brazen grin. Clara dipped her head in acknowledgement, but continued her fixed pace astride the Doctor. She sighed to herself, and the Doctor's head turned almost imperceptibly. He was going to try to approach her at one point or another, that much was obvious.

The Doctor suddenly slowed, setting his hands in his jacket pocket.

"Care for a drink, Clara?" he asked, tapping a hand on the bar.

Clara nodded. "Gin and tonic, please." As the Doctor placed their orders, Clara's watched the table of gentlemen out of the corner of her eye. As suspected, Dark Hair appeared to be ready to make his move. He was pushing out his chair and putting out his cigarette.

"Your drink."

She blinked at the sharpness at which the Doctor set down her drink on the cherry counter, murmuring her thanks. Again Clara slid her gaze sideways, feigning absorption in her drink as she took a sip.

The Doctor had turned, leaning on the counter and saying something to the bartender. The dark-haired man stood, brushing off his lapels, and looked hungrily in Clara's direction. She couldn't see the Doctor's face, but his towering figure straightened and squared in the man's direction. The man looked cowed, freezing in place. Clara chanced a glance, hiding her face in her drink. The entire table had frozen, actually.

Clara smiled into her drink, more pleased than she wanted to admit. Whatever expression the Doctor had on his face must be terrifying.

Colouring slightly, the man placed a hand on the table and began pretending that he had meant to flag down a waitress. One of the men snickered, taking a long drag of his drink when the Doctor's head snapped back in the direction of their table.

Clara looped her arm through the crook of Doctor's elbow after he got his drink, moving them forward, and they both said nothing at first. The Doctor laid a hand on top of hers. "There appear to be inebriated dullards in this cabin," he said coolly.

She chanced a look over her shoulder as they were exiting the car, most of which hunkered down and whispering. The dark-haired man had been gaping, and snatched up his drink when Clara caught his eye.

Clara chuckled. "You're a gifted socialite," she said sarcastically. "You disturbed a small crowd of people without even opening your mouth. I'm impressed, really."

He turned his head to regard her, smiling a closed-mouth, affectionate smile. It was a bit of an intense experience to receive affection from this Doctor. She had caught him softening like this a few times, most often when she appeared to be enjoying danger just as much as he was. They had a knack for finding danger together, the Doctor and Clara. Droids and dinosaurs in London, robots in Sherwood Forest, monsters hiding in beds…

Clara loved it. Well, had loved it.

"I'm afraid life is going to seem rather dull after things like this," she mused, half to herself. Her chest swelled with emotion, and she lifted her head to look at his face. He didn't meet her eyes, but flicked his gaze sideways.

"It's not going to be quite the same company, either."

His fingers briefly rubbed the top of her glove, and Clara understood.

* * *

><p>Clara's legs swayed gently as the Doctor carried her from the TARDIS, limp, her scarlet lips parted with sleep. The Doctor savoured this moment of vulnerability, of chaste contact. He liked when she truly needed him.<p>

Traces of her perfume wafted in the light breeze. Like a bouquet of lavender, but with dark intentions. He slowed his walk, studying the curves of her face, watching them travel to the slope of her neck, the crest of her slender collarbone, down to the arching lines of the tops of her breasts…

Searing heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach, and he was immediately, intensely angry. He shook himself, setting his jaw as his head snapped upwards.

No more.

Absolutely not.

He was not a schoolboy to be taken in by cleavage, and he was certainly enough of a man to abstain from ogling a helpless woman.

Clara sighed in her sleep, and the Doctor's mouth curved as her hair began stringing across her face. Well, she was far from helpless. Clara Oswald was many, many things...but helpless had never really been one of them. So the Doctor loved when he could be of help, even if it was only carrying her, wrapped in blankets, to a quiet place to sleep.

She didn't need his help anymore. She didn't need him anymore, actually.

He set his jaw, the frown-lines on his face suiting him more every day. The Doctor's footfalls sped away from his ship, which was going to feel even bigger and emptier on the inside as ever.

Her head lolled, and he adjusted his arm.

He listened to the gravel crunch rhythmically under his feet, absorbing the warmth coming from Clara's still form, the smolders still flickering with every step.

He hated endings.

* * *

><p>"Well, you can't really tell if something's an addiction, until you try to give it up."<p>

Clara's smile was wry. "And you never have."

"Let me know how it goes."

Clara and the Doctor watched each other steadily, disturbed by the whirring chirp of Clara's phone ringing. They both knew what it was, and the Doctor's already stern face looked further strained. They both knew it was their final moments, and it was being intruded. She held the Doctor's gaze as she answered the phone in a silent apology.

"Hey, Danny. How are you?"

She turned and began climbing the steps to the second floor of the console room, turning her back, escaping from the Doctor's piercing stare. The Doctor himself had taken up refuge on the opposite end of the control panel, as if any exposure to Danny was volatile and bound to inflict him with a pathogen.

Clara gripped the railing for composure as she came to the top floor, panting slightly. Her world was coming apart at the seams, being pulled from thousands of years and millions of miles.

"So is it done, then?" Danny asked. His easy tone, like he had just asked about the weather, seemed to be a prediction of what life would be like now. Mind-numbingly normal.

"Yep. Mission accomplished," Clara said, still out of breath, but not from exertion. She willed her eyes to look anywhere else in the TARDIS—anywhere at all—but they were riveted on the silver-haired man standing alone below her. Her grasp on the railing tightened.

The embers in the pit of her stomach fanned into a flame again.

The Doctor was shifting on his feet, flickering his gaze up to Clara and down to his console. His expression, that same one from the wardrobe, sent something like panic through Clara's stomach as she felt their last moments slipping away, stolen by a phone conversation.

She wasn't going to let anything—or anyone—do that. Not even Danny.

"Listen," Clara said hurriedly, "I can't talk now, but, I'll see you soon…and-"

The words hung in her throat. Her heart suddenly thumping in her eardrums, Clara felt the heat in her core growing, searing, seeping in and out of every nerve of her body, alive, building into an inferno. She checked herself as she almost dropped the phone from her ear.

Whatever guilt she had shriveled away, fully consumed as she drew in a breath to give a name to the flames.

_"I love you."_

Her words echoed through the TARDIS, once, hanging in the air.

He looked down with the ghost of a smile about his lips, and Clara knew he understood.

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><p><strong>AN It was actually confirmed by Jenna Coleman that Clara was indeed saying "I love you" to the Doctor, not to Danny, at the end of this episode. Just to reiterate, this last section was Steven and Jamie's writing, with my own embellishment on internal thought processes. **

**Anyone seen the preview for "Dark Water"? I'm sorry, but I already know that the finale starting this Saturday is going to further my trust issues with BBC.**

**Thanks for the read! As always, feedback is appreciated.**

**-Latte**


	2. Phileo: Part 1

_A/N - Thanks for all the reads and reviews! The feedback was appreciated. Nice to see return reviewers from "Feelings", too! To Anon: I'm not planning on continuing that story specifically, but one of these chapters will address Clara's interrupted look into the Doctor's mind. They'll be one from Twelve's POV as soon as the inspiration strikes me._

_Friendship (phileo) is a highly underrated form of love, and one that is central to their relationship. This is set during "Deep Breath", after the Doctor disappears after the skin-balloon smackdown. They show Clara changed into her normal clothes in the scene following the Doctor's disappearance, but I think at least a few days have passed in between that event and Clara's conversation with Vastra. Twelve isn't timely. Hahaha._

_This will take place over two chapters; the next chapter will include the Doctor. As always, feedback is noted and appreciated._

_A HUGE thank you to Friendship-Bravery-Souffles for giving this chapter a makeover! You're an amazing beta!_

_Words of wisdom from Clara' actress:_

_"I find it's such a friendship that I think, you put the two of us together, and you look at the two of us, and it should never ever work. We should never be friends. Yet it's kind of unlikely and strange and charming and somehow he's not kind of quite adapted to her or he's kind of a bit of an amalgamation of all these things that somehow — I don't know, they just belong somehow, I think." -Jenna Coleman_

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><p><strong>PHILEO: FRIENDSHIP (Part one)<strong>

**_"Friends [partner with interests] more inward, less widely shared and less easily defined…travelling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side bye side; their eyes look ahead." –C.S. Lewis, "The Four Loves", excerpt from page 98._**

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><p>"Greetings and fair morning, Boy!"<p>

Clara Oswald startled and hissed as her door slammed into an open position, brisk footsteps echoing loudly in her room. She moaned into the pillow. . It was early – much too early in the morning. Slowly thoughts emerged in her groggy mind one at a time…

Firstly, she was in London, circa the 1890's.

Two, she was sleeping in the guest room at Paternoster Row.

Three, the Doctor had disappeared – again – after their struggle with the androids.

Four, there was an exceptionally annoying Sontaran butler that was waking her up quite against her will.

Strax ignored, or maybe was truly ignorant to her annoyance, bustling about her room. "Breakfast has been prepared and is located in the dining room," he trumpeted. "You may wish to put on some clothes. I have been informed that public nudity in this society is deemed as unacceptable."

Clara buried her face further in her pillow, groaning for emphasis. "I am clothed, Strax. Get out of my room."

"Utter nonsense! The only thing you're wearing is that hideous wig," he retorted. "I have taken the liberty of placing a suitable selection of attire on the chair," he added, no small measure of pride in his voice. Clara grunted, sliding her gaze to where he was referring. 'Suitable attire' indeed… he had placed a man's suit, mismatched shoes, a dog collar, bloomers, suspenders, and one of Madame Vastra's hats across the arms of a chair in the corner.

He shook his stubby head as he regarded Clara, facedown with her hair splayed everywhere, one leg haphazardly sticking out from her bed. "I say. If you were in a Sontaran Battle Fleet, I would recommend your immediate execution. It's already half past the 5 o' clock hour," he tutted. "I've destroyed entire divisions by this time of day, you should know."

Clara tried to push the pillow over her ears. Mornings were her least favourite time of day, by far. Her otherwise reasonable temper was at its most flammable before 9am, which her students were always careful to respect. If you're going to act out in class, wait until Miss Oswald's first cup of coffee has done its work.

This morning, especially, she would have much preferred to stay asleep.

Clara felt ill. She hadn't stopped running since the dinosaur had spat the TARDIS by the Thames, and now that she had…she ached.

Unfamiliar, painful emotions ate at her conscious. She was sad; Clara understood that. Her best friend had died. He had died right in front of her. Reaching for her hand. Reaching for her. Afraid, like a child. He had wanted to touch her one last time, and been denied it.

No. He had worse than died.

He had changed into a man that she didn't know. A strange, angry man who utterly lacked what she had always known and found comfort in: compassion. Clara didn't know if he had any semblance of sane, rational emotions.

She hated it, but there was a part of her that was afraid of him.

The Doctor's compassion gave him his core, his equilibrium, his compass. Without this boundary, the Doctor seemed unkind. Unkind and dangerous.

Anger unexpectedly bloomed in her chest, tinged with something else ugly. How could he? How could he change—change, and have their last words exchanged be so trite? Any warning, any comfort for what to expect. It would have been kinder if he had asked her to leave.

The ugliness accompanying the anger finally had a name: betrayal.

Clara had endured enough. She had remained by his side, waiting for a glimmer of hope that her friend had somehow been preserved. He had given no such indication, and seemed truly to wear not only a different face, but possess a different heart.

Clara's throat tightened. She would bear it no longer. She was done being left…she'd been left three times. It was her turn to do the leaving.

She heard Strax snort. "Your species requires an inordinate amount of time to rest in a 24 hour period. I am certainly glad that I am not human. I would never get a thing done! Needing to lie down and be coddled with soft beds and blankets at all hours of the day..."

Clara turned her head, glaring crossly. "And I suppose Sontarans are towers of invulnerability."

Strax's nostril's flared.

"I'll have you know that I am biologically superior to you in every way, boy!" he shot back.

"Get that book from the top shelf."

Strax blinked.

"You heard me. Just grab that book."

His eyes narrowed. Clara looked smug.

"Oi. No guns."

Strax's arm retreated from his jacket with a sour expression, continuing to ponder her challenge. After more long seconds, he drew himself up to his full, if not very impressive height and bobbed his body in a gesture of respectful concession.

"I will admit defeat in this battle, human." He looked like a very grave potato, indeed, with the next statement. "But I shall win the war."

With that militant proclamation, he slammed the door behind him. Clara rolled over, cushioning her head on her arms and sighed, allowing herself to enjoy the moment's peace. She willed herself to think of nothing.

* * *

><p>Sometime later Strax dutifully knocked, entering with a silver tray that carried a simple breakfast. Clara watched him from her seat at the vanity while she continued pulling a brush through her hair, having found a dress in the wardrobe and struggling into the layers.<p>

She said nothing at first, moved by the gesture. In truth, she was very hungry, but hadn't been ready for the company of Madame Vastra and Jenny's interrogations. When is he coming back for you? She imagined them asking. What are you going to do now?

"Thank you," she said, her tone soft with honesty.

Strax set the tray on her desk, rubbing his gloved hands. "Compliments of the mistress of the house. She informed me that you are most likely in a compromised state of emotion, and would prefer solitary confinement." Clara swallowed a prickly feeling in her throat. She had endured bereavement and worse over the last few days, and the simple kindness was like a balm.

She gratefully bit into a roll as Strax settled himself onto the armchair, drumming his three fingers together. "As you know, I have been given the function of a nurse. While humiliating, I have committed myself to perform my duties to the best of my ability. I've even developed a robust technique for breastfeeding," he said proudly. Clara endeavoured to hide her uncomfortable expression behind her teacup.

"One area I have not explored yet, however, is that of mental health."

Clara set down her cup as he pointed a finger skyward, looking quite excited. "Being as emotionally compromised and dysfunctional as you are, you will be my first patient." He clapped his funny hands together, leaning forward with his eyebrows raised, taking an air of business. "Let us begin!"

Clara swallowed her bite, annoyed. She hardly felt like a conversation, and an undoubtedly abrasive interrogation was the last thing she wanted to do. She was, however, going to be stuck with him for an undetermined amount of time. Might as well play nice.

He produced a notebook from seemingly nowhere, licking a finger to turn to a fresh page. "Let's start with your bizarre penchant to travel with the infamous Time Lord, known as 'the Doctor'.

Clara dabbed at her mouth as Strax grinned, looking a bit wolfish. "His companions are known to lapse into similar, unstable states of emotion. I have also tended to his associates Amelia Pond and her husband, who both turned out to be a bit savage in their own right." He chortled to himself, shaking his head. "For a man that detests warfare, he certainly inspires quite a bit of violence."

His pen was poised over the page. "Well, then. Why do you travel with such a man?"

Clara was silent. That question, however obvious, had never been posed to her to find an answer proved to be like finding the ends of a tangled ball of yarn – they were certainly there, but they've somehow become impossibly lost in the rest of the thread.

She shrugged her shoulders once. Maybe simplicity would be good enough? "He asked me, and I said yes. Well," she laughed, "I told him to come back tomorrow. Like I was considering a job offer." She touched a hand to her face as she smiled, Strax beginning to screw up his face. "And he did. It feels like we both sort of figured we fit each other."

He narrowed his orb-like eyes. "I need specific details, Miss Oswald. The more vague you are, the more I will pry." Clara sighed. So much for simplicity…

Clara ran her finger over the edge of the saucer that held her empty cup. "I liked to travel with the Doctor because I enjoyed it. Travelling in the TARDIS was like oxygen to me. It was amazing, dangerous, thrilling …"

Strax pursed his lips and looked thoughtful, scribbling and alternating his gaze from his notebook to her face.

"…And he was incredible. I've never known anyone like him."

Strax scrawled more notes.

"So you are a traveller like the Doctor, then. Perhaps with hand-to-hand combat experience? Always a prudent choice for a partner."

"No, actually. I'm an English teacher. And I was a nanny when I met him."

"A bizarre and foolish choice for a companion," Strax mumbled to himself, raising his eyebrows and writing more notes.

Clara sighed. "I don't know. I liked it. I should have more to say to that, but…honestly, that's it." She shrugged. "I liked travelling with him. We enjoyed each other's company."

He dotted his last note, looking thoughtful. He pulled a small textbook from the same thin air as the notebook had come from, opening up to a page. "'Enjoyed each other's company'," Strax repeated, looking to the book. He hummed after a minute of reading. "Cross-referencing your descriptors of both the Doctor and your shared interests gives me the conflicting diagnoses of a "friend"—he made air quotes with his fat fingers—"and 'lover'."

Strax flipped a few pages back in his notes, referencing the textbook. "Love is a feeling that humans label their hormones when they have chosen a suitable mate. It is a mixture of dopamine, adrenaline, oxytocin, and vasopressin. When two people engage in such a bond, they are referred to as 'lovers'."

Strax eyed her as he said the last statement. "I say. The Doctor is not a suitable reproductive partner for you. Might I suggest a female?"

Clara kneaded a sore spot on her temple.

Silence stretched. A strange, uncomfortable feeling throbbed in her chest. Clara's hand stopped kneading her temple, and came to rest on her collarbone."He's not my lover, Strax. He never was."

"Your friend, then?"

Clara's hand fiddled with her collar. The feeling had matured into disappointment. Clara hadn't realized that a sense of missed opportunity would ache as strongly as her grief. Their relationship held only one title, and it felt like not enough. Not enough for the length that she cared for him. Like they had deserved to be called more, but never fully consummated it.

"Yes. Yes, he was my best friend."

Strax wrote in his notebook for a long minute before addressing her again. "Miss Oswald, you are referring to the Doctor in the past tense. Did you not see him with your own eyes?"

"I did."

Strax fixed her with a look. "You do not recognize the Doctor, although you are his closest companion."

Clara stood. The breakfast was a nice thing, yes, but she'd reached her patience's end. "I think that's enough for today, Strax. I'll take the tray for you."

Strax scowled. "Sit down, boy. I've only begun my analysis."

Clara's eyes blazed. Enough was enough. "Take that tone with me again, and I'll clear you right out of this room with said tray!" she spat.

To her surprise, Strax burst into bellowing laughter, holding his side and wagging a finger in her direction. "Excellent sense of humour," Strax wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. He ignored Clara's stony expression."Most witty!"

Clara ran her hands down her face as he started up another round of guffawing. Of course bodily threats were hilarious.

"I don't know, all right?" She crossed her arms. "This is really none of your business, but I think teaching is the best fit for me now. My travelling days are over."

Strax paused his laughter, coughing and looking in his notebook. He wrinkled his brow as he looked from the book to his notebook. "Miss Oswald, your own self-ascribed title as his "best friend", which I'm told is a tantamount to a life partner in this text, does not match with your sudden unwillingness to travel with him." He sat back, looking matter-of-fact.

Clara set her jaw. "Strax, the man I called that is dead. He is not here, and anyone that has eyes can see it plain as day."

Strax blinked, setting his notebook in his lap. "Indeed, he is not. He has only regenerated."

Clara's eyes stung, and she felt anger building. "He's dead," she repeated acidly. "The man that was my friend is dead."

Strax's brow wrinkled, confused by her stubborn repetition. "Why did I attempt mental health?" he muttered, flipping through more pages of text. "Tiresome lot, Homo Sapiens. Your brains are indeed like gelatinous dessert, as the Doctor described. How can you not understand the regeneration cycle? It's rather elementary."

Clara huffed, hating that there was truth hiding somewhere in his words. "Strax, I wouldn't expect you to understand. Sontarans don't have friends."

Clara immediately regretted her words.

Strax looked hurt, and it was a strange, uncomfortable thing to see on his militant, Sontaran face. He squared himself, addressing her firmly. "Miss Oswald, I am a clone, not a robot. I have a perfect understanding and appreciation of the importance of comaraderie."

He cleared his throat as he averted his gaze. "Madame Vastra and Jenny have been established as both my mistresses and my comrades, and I would sacrifice myself for for them as such," he said solemnly. "I would call either one my friend."

Clara resisting reaching out to pat him. She had a feeling that it would make things worse. "I'm sorry. I really am."

Strax grunted, and Clara took it as acceptance. He continued in what would be called – by his usual standards – very gently. "Miss Oswald, there are very few species in the universe that can function without companionship," he said. "I'm sure you have observed this in your travels with the Doctor."

Clara smoothed out the layers of her dress and said nothing. Strax sighed before he continued.

"I may have had my differences with the Doctor, but I consider him a comrade as well. In my 12 years of life, I have yet to observe a man more loyal to his friends."

His tone was almost human now. "He appears to value your companionship very much, Miss Oswald. I would reconsider your decision to leave."

Clara was quiet, thinking.

"I consider you my friend," Clara said after a minute. She smiled with real warmth. "Thank you for trying to help me."

Strax surprised her by reciprocating the smile. He bobbed his head, standing to his feet. "I repeat my earlier statement that your brain is highly dysfunctional, but I am glad to know that I was of assistance." He stood, brushing down his lapels. "And for the record, I consider you a friend as well. I look forward to vanquishing you on the battlefield someday."

Clara stared, and Strax pointed a finger upwards. "I look forward to not vanquishing you on the battlefield someday."

Apparently satisfied with the exchange, Strax grunted and busied himself clearing dishes, a comfortable silence settling on the room. Clara looked out the window at the blackbird busy nestling herself in with her chicks, puffing out her down and nudging their little funny bald heads with her beak. It was actually kind of nice, seeing that blackbirds still looked themselves a hundred years in the past.

"Miss Oswald?"

He paused in the doorway with the tray, pausing even after she met his gaze.

"The Doctor has carried his species for over a millennia by himself. He can bear that weight without losing hope. What he does not seem to be able to bear forever, however, is the lack of a companion by his side. "

She chewed on her lip.

"You, Miss Oswald, are part of his identity. I fear for the Doctor's well-being if you are not his anchor. I'm speaking as the Doctor's friend, not a nurse. Although my growing knowledge of mental health would agree to this assessment in a professional capacity."

Clara set her mouth in a line and nodded. Her reply was grave with sincerity. "Thank you for caring about him, Strax."

He gave a small bow, and turned to go. He halted again, and looked as if he was going to deliver a deathblow. Clara cringed.

"And I still hold that you would do much better without that contentious wig. Allow me to remove it."

"Don't touch my head, Strax."


End file.
